Turning Tricks
by L's Hope
Summary: Pre-series; Dean couldn't do much, but he'd do what he could.


**Turning Tricks**

Dean counted out the remaining money with a frown. There should've been more than that. He'd made sure there was enough for a week's worth of groceries, new clothes for Sam, and the month's rent. The rent was paid and the clothes were bought, but there was almost nothing left for food.

His dad must've taken some for the hunt. Dean loved his father, but the man could be so single-minded he'd forget the basic stuff. Like to save up money. Or his sons' need for food.

"Looks like we're having Sonic tonight, Sammy." His brother gave a grunt in response, completely absorbed in his homework. Dean rolled his eyes. Thank God he didn't have to deal with that shit anymore.

He left their little apartment as night fell, the city seeming all the brighter in the darkness enveloping it. The building they were staying in was run down and ugly, but it was just a temporary thing. They'd leave for greener pastures when the month was up. In the mean time, Dad was hunting down everything in a thirty mile radius and Sam was devouring the curriculum at a local high school. Sometimes Dean thought he was trying to beat the teachers at their own subjects.

Dean personally couldn't wait until they moved on. This part of the city was not the kind of place you'd want to leave a teenager alone in, and Sam had barely taken his nose out of his textbooks since he'd gotten them. Neither of them had left the crummy little apartment outside of going to school and buying supplies. Dean was getting antsy. He wanted something to kill, or at least a halfway decent beer. Unfortunately, Sonic offered neither.

When he came back, Sam was still at the table, hunched over his math book. Dean dropped his fast food bag right next to the pages and Sammy hissed like an angry cat. "You'll get the book dirty!"

Dean shrugged, plopping down in the fold up chair across from him. "It's not ours."

"Exactly!"

Dean grinned and munched on his burger in the most obnoxious way he could manage. When he decided that it wasn't noisy enough, he slurped his shake like he was trying to inhale the straw. Eventually his brother made a frustrated sound, a uniquely Sam-like noise that managed to say "are you _five?_" while pouting and stomping it's feet, and reluctantly took the books and papers off the table to eat dinner with his big brother.

When they'd finished, Dean stood and crumpled their trash together before shoving it into the little garbage can by the counter. It was almost full. He took his coat from the closet and headed for the front door.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, smile fading from his lips.

"Out."

Dean took the trash with him.

There should've been more money. They still had almost a week before leaving this place, and you could only use a bad credit card so many times before the local businesses started catching on. They couldn't afford the food it would take to get him and Sammy through the week, and that went doubly so if Dad showed back up. Sonic was all well and good, but Dean doubted they accepted IOUs as currency. So he went out.

His brother was the scholar of the family. His dad was the hunter. But Dean was the breadwinner.

When he returned the sun had yet to come back up, but the TV was blaring in their shitty little apartment. Dean opened the door, ready for anything, but relaxed when he saw his dad sitting in the beaten up old recliner by the table. One of his legs was propped up where their greasy dinner had been hours before. His dad was holding ice over the ankle. He didn't look up as Dean entered, but did grunt out a hello and motion to the weapons on the table. Dean grabbed the knife and wiped it down carefully, because dried blood was a bitch to clean, before taking apart the gun and checking it over, making sure all the parts were as they should be and nothing was clogged or jammed. He reloaded it before putting it back in its proper place.

"Where were you?"

His dad was looking at him now, one eyebrow raised and one hand tapping the table distractedly. The other remained on the ice.

Dean shrugged. "Out. Hit up a few bars. Made some money."

"Liar," John accused good naturedly. "You were out with a girl. You've got hickeys all down the side of your neck."

"Looks like you caught me," Dean said with a smile. Then he put the rest of the weapons away. Then he helped wrap his dad's ankle, and afterwards was fairly certain they wouldn't need a hospital visit this time. Then his dad fell asleep in the arm chair. Dean tucked him in there, because injured people shouldn't have to sleep on the floor, even if it was in a sleeping bag. And Dean put away the money he'd earned, still warm from his back pocket, because hustling pool wasn't nearly enough to feed their family, whatever his dad wanted to believe. Credit card scams wouldn't keep a roof over their heads, and false names wouldn't keep Child Protective Services away. Dad could kill all the monsters in the world and it wouldn't be enough. There wasn't much Dean could do, but he'd do what he could.

Sammy's job was to be the kid of the family. Dad's job was to be the hunter. Dean's job was to be the whore.


End file.
